Living the Dream
by LittleGiblet
Summary: You'd never know that Erin Gilbert was the ultimate dreamer. She had cultivated her Fantasy Face into an expression that closely resembled the one she wore when solving a particularly difficult equation. So no one knew that she wanted to dance Swan Lake. Or cook with as much flourish as Julia Child. Or spank someone. (Kink!Fic, don't read if that isn't yo thang! :) ) Erin/Jillian
1. Chapter 1

You'd never know that Erin Gilbert was the ultimate dreamer. She had cultivated her Fantasy Face ™ into an expression that closely resembled the one she wore when solving a particularly difficult equation.

So no one knew that she wanted to dance Swan Lake.

Or cook with as much flourish as Julia Child.

Or spank someone.

Oy. Somehow that last one brought her more shame than the others, despite arguably being the most attainable of her wild dreams. The desire could be triggered at any time.

A mention of punishment.

A particularly sound high five

Abby Yates slapping Jillian Holtzmann's ass.

"Can you believe her?"

Erin looked up when she realized that Abby was addressing her. She took in the scene before her, which she had been oblivious to until that moment. Abby stood with her hands on her hips, lips pursed, and an eyebrow raised. Holtzmann was leaning on the table; all swagger and dimples, despite the large hole burned into the front of her jumpsuit. Erin reached out to touch it.

"What did you do?"

"No harm, no foul."

"Nuh-uh," Abby glared, "she took an untested 'toy' to that bust at Marie's Crisis. She got the ghost, but that thing exploded, and some kind of liquid flew out of it."

"It ate straight through my clothes," Holtzmann did not have the decency to look ashamed, "but my flesh is fine. So, so, so fine."

"Y'know what, Erin? I'm tagging you in here," Abby turned to leave, "you see if you can get your girlfriend to be a little less reckless."

"I love you too, Abigail Yates," Holtzmann called after their friend.

Erin sighed. She leveled her gaze at her girlfriend, who had pulled herself up onto the table. Holtzmann was swinging her legs in anticipation of the inevitable lecture.

"You aren't hurt at all?"

"I'm fine," Holtzmann shrugged.

"That isn't what I asked."

Erin stood up and closed the space between them, daring Holtzmann to lie to her.

"Second degree burn on my left arm," the blonde held her chin up defiantly, "minor."

She winced as Erin pulled up the sleeve of her jumpsuit.

"This needs to be cleaned."

Holtzmann nodded.

"You're mad at me."

"Well," Erin began dressing Holtzmann's burn, "you did promise me that you'd more careful."

"Hey," Holtzmann wrapped her legs around Erin, "I can still walk this time—that's progress."

"This could have been prevented," Erin pushed Holtzmann's legs down.

Truthfully, she found it damn near impossible to stay mad at her girlfriend. But if Holtzmann knew how easy it was to re-endear herself to Erin, she would probably pull stunts more frequently than she did now—and that was a scary thought.

So as Holtzmann ducked her head and studied her shoes, Erin tried to keep the annoyance on her brow— even as Holtzmann's sheepishness tugged at her heart.

"I wasn't thinking," she offered quietly.

"That much is painfully clear," Erin chuckled mirthlessly.

"I'm like a little kid when I build a new toy," Holtzmann went back to kicking her legs, "I don't have a lot of common sense to begin with, and my excitement eradicates what little there is."

"Maybe I should treat you like a little kid."

The words rolled out of Erin's mouth easily, before she could catch them and shove them back in. She had uttered that phrase so many times in her fantasies that the crossing of the line between daydream and reality was easier than she ever thought it would be.

Holtzmann stopped kicking.

"What?"

Her downcast eyes rose to meet Erin's, and they stared at each other, for what felt to Erin like an eternity. Her first instinct is to laugh, to play it off as a rather Holtzmann-like joke, but something in her mad scientist's eyes stopped her. When the corners of the blonde's mouth turned up, ever so slightly, Erin realized that it was consent.

"Go upstairs and wait for me," she was surprised at how strong she sounded— how natural it felt to be in control.

They would have privacy on Holtzmann's floor.

Her girlfriend slid off the table and moved past her, turning back when she reached the foot of the stairs, "what does one wear for a spanking?"

Erin shivered at Holtzmann's use of the word.

"Nothing," she said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice.

Holtzmann managed to control her excitement on the first few steps, but took over when she hit the fourth. She ran up the remaining stairs, removing her jumpsuit as she hopped.

Erin let herself grin.


	2. Chapter 2

Holtzmann's room was surprisingly feminine. Erin was always struck by the juxtaposition when she passed through the engineer's rugged lab and stepped into the room the blonde had moved into on the second floor.

There were twinkly fairy lights surrounding the headboard of the captain's bed that sat in the corner, and the mix matched quilts that covered it were soft and floral. She was fascinated by this side of Holtz—she supposed that it was the same side that compelled her girlfriend to carefully apply the eyeliner she wore under her yellow tinted goggles, and to sacrifice a significant number of precious morning-minutes to styling her hair in that effortless-looking updo.

The updo had been undone. Holtzmann's hair spilled over her bare shoulders in soft waves. She sat on her bed with her legs crossed under her, fiddling with the scalloped edge of one of her blankets. She was nude, except for her black underwear, and was backlit by the lights above her bed. Erin wondered if she was trying to kill her.

She approached the bed and held out her hands. Holtzmann took them, and Erin pulled her to her feet.

"I thought I said to wear nothing," Erin stood nose to nose with her girlfriend. Holtzmann reached down and pulled off her underwear without breaking eye contact. She dropped them on the floor, where they joined her burned jumpsuit and every other article of clothing she had worn that week.

The blonde looked nervous, and this delighted Erin. She was so used to looking to Holtzmann—ever so much more experienced and always slightly smug Holtzmann— for guidance in all things sexual. The uncertainty in Holtz's eyes was new. And the excitement caused by this development seemed to travel directly between Erin's legs.

"C'mere," Erin sat down on her bed and guided the smaller woman across her knee. Holtzmann inhaled sharply as her center came in contact with Erin's thighs.

Erin raised her hand up and brought it down sharply on her girlfriend's ass. The cracking sound that the contact made was satisfying, but it paled in comparison to the surprised squeak that escaped Holtzmann's lips. Erin had a good right hand. Having no particular interest in anything athletic, she hadn't found a way to put it to good use before that moment.

She wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

So she struck again.

And again.

And again.

She fell into a rhythm, alternating sides and moving up and down—wanting to give all of Holtzmann's ass equal coverage. She was pleased to see it turn pink, and then red.

For her part, Holtz was a mess. Between the erotic sting that Erin's hand was building—not being able to control the erotic sting that Erin's hand was building-loving the erotic sting that Erin's hand was building— while still being fully aware that the erotic sting that Erin's hand was building fucking _hurt_ —she was on sensory overload.

Toss in the fact that her slit was rubbing against Erin's thigh as she writhed, and the poor engineer didn't stand a chance.

Every time that she thought she had a handle on it all, it was as if Erin could sense it (spoiler alert: she could). The former professor would pick up the pace of her slaps, target her previously untouched thighs, or strike with new intensity.

Holtzmann rewarded Erin's efforts with kicks, yelps, and moans.

Content with the cherry hue of her girlfriend's backside, and satisfied by quivering wreck she had reduced her to, Erin stopped. She rubbed gentle circles on Holtzmann's back, giving the blonde a moment to catch her breath.

"Are you going to be more careful on busts, Jillian?"

"Ugh," was all Holtzmann could muster.

"Hey," Erin chuckled and ran her fingers through Holtz's tangled hair, "Use your words."

"Yes," the reply was faint.

Erin removed her hand from Holtzmann's hair and dipped it between the engineer's thighs.

"Hmmm," she murmured as she felt the wetness, "I'm not sure how effective this was as a deterrent."

"It was," Holtz shuddered at the contact, "very, very effective."

Erin moved her thumb on top of Holtz's clit. Holtz was so revved up that it only took a few gentle circles before she was exploding against Erin's hand.

After she had ridden it out she rolled over onto her back—just in time to catch Erin licking her thumb.

"Gilbert," she said with a wolfish grin, "you're a goddamn animal."

Erin shrugged abashedly, feeling her face turn red.

"You just beat the shit out of me," Holtz mused, "and that makes you blush?"

"I did not beat the shit out of you," Erin grinned.

"You kind of did."

"You kind of loved it."

Holtz kissed Erin sweetly. Yeah. Yeah she did.

Notes:

Any interest in this continuing? I'm open to prompts/suggestions for stories along the same lines, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Holtzmann is an eternal optimist. She finds joy in the dark, the light, the confusing, the complicated, and the mundane. Her yellow tinted goggles might as well be rose, and if you spend enough time around her, incessant sunshine will creep into your worldview.

Which is why it's so hard for Erin to see her like this.

Her blue eyes look gray set against the dark circles that have formed around them.

Her hair is flattened against her skull, without its typical flourish.

She is thinner, the result of not eating for five days straight.

She is Holtzmann-shaped, but she is missing the vital, unclouded radiance that makes Holtzmann Holtzmann.

Erin isn't privy to the inner workings of her girlfriend's mind, but she does know that Holtzmann is determined to design a failure-backup for their proton packs. Patty's had malfunctioned during a bust, and she was pretty banged up after the ghost got the upper hand. Holtzmann shut herself in her lab that night, and over the last five days, she has left only to use the bathroom.

Patty isn't mad at her; she explains this every time she brings Holtzmann something to drink.

Abby has taken to bringing her Pringles and other snacks that crunch.

Erin brings her actual meals, prepared by her own hands three times a day, even though she finds that Holtz does little more than nibble on them.

Her patience is wearing thin today. She'd be pissed at anyone who dared to hurt her girlfriend, but it's hard to know what to do with that anger when her girlfriend is hurting herself.

Holtzmann doesn't see it that way.

"I'm fine," those words sit so easily on her tongue—one of the few lies that she can pull off.

"I just want you to lie down for a little while," Erin tries to keep her voice neutral, devoid of scolding, because Holtz will revolt if she thinks she is being scolded, "Two hours."

"I'm really close," Holtz waves her hand dismissively.

"You've been saying that for five days," Erin places a hand on Holtzmann's shoulder, but Holtzmann shrugs it off immediately.

"Thanks for bringing that up, sweetheart," Holtz keeps her eyes focused on the proton pack, "it's comforting to know just how long it has taken me to figure this out."

Erin takes a deep breath, trying not to choke on the tension curdling in the air.

"That isn't what I meant," she says quietly, "and I think you know that."

"I know that I'd like you to leave, because the sound of your voice is like nails on a chalkboard right now."

Holtzmann regrets the words the second that they leave her mouth. She rarely snaps at anyone—let alone Erin. She drops the wrench that she has been tinkering with. It lands on the table in front of her with a thud. Holtzmann places her head in her shaky hands.

"I didn't mean that, Erin."

Erin knows this. She tries to let the comment roll off of her narrow shoulders without scraping the skin. She takes yet another a deep breath as she silently studies the blonde in front of her; Holtz looks utterly miserable.

"You need to sleep, Jillian." Erin gently takes Holtzmann's hands, massaging her palms.

"I can't," Holtzmann can't keep her voice from cracking, "my brain won't turn off until I finish this."

"You haven't tried," Erin chides gently.

"I know myself," Holtz finally meets Erin's eyes, "this happens. It's my own fault; I used to deprive myself of food and sleep in order to heighten my focus in grad school. It was the only way I could get everything done."

"You aren't on a deadline, Holtz," Erin continues rubbing small circles on Holtzmann's hands.

"Rest is for the weak," Holtzmann grumbles.

Erin pinches the bridge of her nose, marveling at just how intensely infuriating the woman sitting before her is. There is no formula or equation for solving Holtzmann. No chemical combination that will dissolve her stubbornness and make her more pliable.

But Holtzmann is malleable. Erin has hammered and applied pressure to her form, utilizing her hands, fingers, and tongue to mold her into something boneless—something that relinquishes without losing its shape.

Erin thinks that some of the recklessness that the blonde radiates has taken up residence in her, because she doesn't feel any trepidation when she grasps Holtzmann left hand, pulling her up onto her feet. She guides her over to the long table that sits against the wall of the lab, which is, remarkably, not covered in anything dangerous or explosive. She carefully lifts her girlfriend onto the relatively clean surface.

"Let's try this conversation from a different angle," Erin purrs as she undoes the button on Holtzmann's baggy wide-legged trousers.

"But—" Holtzmann tries to sit up, still concerned with her project, but Erin pushes her back down firmly.

The taller woman makes a grab for a piece of discarded rope on the tool shelf above them.

"Well," Erin says airily, as she secures her girlfriend's hands above her head "you've proven that you cannot stay still."

"I'm not done," Holtz protests weakly, still trying to wiggle her way off of the table.

"I'll gag you too," Erin tugs on the rope for emphasis, igniting heat between the twine and the delicate skin on the engineer's wrists.

Holtzmann looks as though she wants to protest, but the determination on Erin's face indicates that she is not fucking around , and the blonde's stomach flutters at the idea of challenging her. She'd like to try that sometime, she thinks, but the lack of sleep has made her bleary-eyed and too vulnerable. Surrender is familiar and comforting when she is with Erin.

Erin has been watching Holtzmann's internal struggle carefully, waiting until the blonde relaxes against the restraints before she continues undressing her.

She is in her bra and underwear now, and Erin growls lowly when she catches sight of the way Holtzmann's ribs are poking through her skin. She runs the tips of her fingers over the protrusion.

"You're going to think twice before you let this happen again," the physicist accents her steely tone by digging her finger nails into Holtzmann's side.

Holtzmann shivers. She is surprised when Erin's next move is to run her thumb over the already soaked fabric of her cotton briefs. Her touch is gentle, teasing, and consistent. The contact is so tame that it takes a while for the warm waves to build in Holtzmann's muscles. She moves her hips, trying to increase the intensity of the taction.

"Not your job," Erin sharply slaps the front of Holtzmann's thigh with her free hand. Holtzmann groans in response, but she stills immediately.

Erin stops stroking just as Holtzmann begins to feel the encouraging creeping sensation at the top of her thighs. She slides Holtzmann's underwear off slowly, letting them fall to the floor.

"Let's talk about food," the physicist says abruptly.

Holtzmann's mouth will not form words; she can only sputter in response.

"I'm going to cook tonight," Erin explains simply, "something with protein, and vegetables, and complex carbohydrates, and you are going to sit down, at the dining room table, and eat everything that I put in front of you."

Holtzmann can feel herself dripping onto the table. "Kay," she answers, not wanting to prolong the throbbing.

The engineer doesn't sound as compliant as Erin would like, but she'll take it. She lowers herself between Holtzmann's thighs, letting the tip of her tongue meet Holtzmann's clit. As Holtzmann arches her back in response, the taller woman stiffens her tongue and traces circles on the intended target.

Her touch is still light, so Holtzmann settles in, prepared to wait for the heat to build.

After a minute or so, she is sweating and restless.

"I know I'm not really in a position to make demands, but…"

Erin complies and applies her tongue faster and harder. Holtzmann feels the familiar volcanic pressure building in her abdomen, and just when she thinks it is ready to erupt—

"Our discussion isn't over," Erin stands up and folds her arms, looking as stern as Holtzmann has ever seen her.

The blonde makes a noise that sounds more animal than human. She suddenly finds herself flipped over onto her stomach, with her legs dangling off of the table.

"My vag feels like it weighs three hundred pounds," she says pitifully.

Erin is glad that Holtz can't see her face, because she can't help smiling.

"Tired?" She asks pointedly.

"Yeah," Holtz mumbles.

"Hungry?" Erin grabs a small wooden ruler from the shelf.

"I could eat," Holtz admits, well-aware that she is sealing her own undoing.

"You should have come to me," Erin runs her fingers down Holtzmann's back, not wanting her girlfriend to feel uncherished as she chastises her, "I would have helped you work through your compulsion to keep working. We could have gotten you eating and sleeping before your health starting deteriorating."

"You're right," Holtz sounds small and raw.

"I know it's hard for you to ask for things," Erin says with sympathy, "but this cannot happen again—I'm not going to watch you turn yourself into someone I barely recognize every time you come up against a busting hurdle."

"Okay," Holtz concedes quietly.

With that, Erin brings the ruler down across Holtzmann's ass.

Holtz gasps as the sting registers on her skin. It sends shockwaves directly to her clit, adding another hundred pounds to the weight she is holding there.

When Erin strikes again, she loses control of her legs. They are kicking now. She can feel herself inching closer to coming, even as Erin isn't touching her.

Erin has a simple goal in mind for the spanking: paint a row of red lines across her girlfriend's ass—a souvenir from this experience that will remind Holtzmann of the way she felt on this table, which she will encounter when she sits or shifts.

Erin works toward that goal diligently.

Holtzmann goes boneless.

It only takes eight strokes before Erin is satisfied. She sets the ruler on the table before flipping her girlfriend onto her back. Holtz hisses when her striped backside hits the hard metal.

Once again, Erin situates herself so that she can work Holtzmann over with her tongue.

Holtzmann whimpers, trying not to get her hopes up. She can feel electricity coiling in her stomach as Erin's tongue enters her.

But like clockwork, just as she is about to explode, Erin stops.

"Erin Gilbert," she moans in agony.

"We're almost there, darling," Erin's voice is silky, "Hang in there. When we are done here, you are going to rest—for at least three hours. Then you are going to eat. Then you are going to turn in for the night. Tomorrow, we'll decide how much time you can devote to the proton packs without sacrificing your health, and we'll take it from there."

"Yep, that all sounds great," Holtzmann will agree to just about anything at this juncture.

"If you refuse to do any of the aforementioned things," Erin's grips Holtzmann's chin, "I will drag you back here, and we will repeat this performance. But when we get to this point, I'm going to walk away. I'll leave you tied to this table, utterly unsatisfied, until I am convinced that you've learned something."

Holtzmann shudders. That image is horrifying, but also completely intoxicating. She pictures Abby or Patty happening upon her, restrained, frustrated, and completely helpless. Fuck.

But she doesn't have time to contemplate that scenario further, because in one quick motion, Erin has taken Holtzmann's clit into her mouth. There is sucking, and teeth, and the coiling, volcanic energy that had been brewing in Holtzmann's stomach finally ruptures into the rest of her body. Erin keeps her tongue and teeth steady as Holtzmann rides the waves, squirming and writhing beneath her.

When she finishes, Erin gently unties Holtzmann's wrists. She sits down on the table, wrapping her arms around the blond and pulling her into her lap.

"I love you," she whispers softly.

"I love you too," Holtzmann rasps.

When the blonde yawns, Erin can't help but look smugly victorious. "Let's get you into bed," she says, helping her girlfriend stand on her wobbly legs.

"Will you lay with me while I sleep?"

"Yep," Erin ruffles Holtzmann's unruly hair, "I've got to make sure you don't sneak back up here."


End file.
